Melting the Ice Queen
by Tanya Reed
Summary: Ray starts sending secret admirer letters to Inspector Thatcher as a joke. Soon, they are no longer a joke and he's falling in love with her. Can the truth be revealed without both of them getting hurt? Ray K/Meg
1. Chapter 1

Melting the Ice Queen

By Tanya Reed

Notes: This story was written for het_bigbang over at livejournal. It took me three months to write and it's a little over 53 000 words long. It's the story that got me into the whole Ray K/Meg thing to begin with. It's a prequel to my stories Lunch, Cuddle, Meg versus the Zombie Movie, The Dance, and Respect the Uniform. I don't know if anyone is actually going to read this, but, if you do, I hope you enjoy it. Thanks go to primroseburrows, mark_clark, slumber, leigh57, x_nothing_here, eviinsanemonkey, sl_walker, kalijean, and exbex for helping me with this thing.

Disclaimer: I haven't owned Due South for the twelve years I've written in the universe, and that hasn't changed.

XXX

Ray Kowalski bounced his way up the steps into the Canadian Consulate. The sun was shining, he had the afternoon off, and Fraser and Turnbull had promised to play some ball with him when they got off work. He was a little early, but he was hoping the Ice Queen would let his friends go if they were done their work for the day. She did sometimes, even if it didn't happen very often.

Ray threw the door open to see Turnbull working at his desk diligently. When Ray entered, the tall Mountie looked up and smiled.

"Ray, you're early."

"I know it. The Ice Queen in?"

Turnbull snuck a glance at his Superior Officer's door. A look of real fear flashed over his face.

"Ray," he whispered fiercely, "it is not appropriate to speak that way about Ins..."

Ray held up his hand. "I'll take that as a yes. Is Fraser here?"

"Constable Fraser is in his office finishing up his 10989B Report."

"Any chance the Ice...I mean the Inspector...will let you out early?"

"I'm scheduled for another one point four hours."

"I know. I said early, Turnbull. Early." He drawled the last word out slowly.

"I have no idea."

Ray sighed and said, "I'm gonna talk to Fraser. The Ice Queen lets you go, come get us."

"As you wish."

Ray shook his head as he wandered towards Fraser's office. Sometimes talking to Turnbull was like talking to a wall. Even so, he liked the Constable and had considered him a friend since they'd spent a couple of days together almost a year before. In fact, he was considering asking Turnbull to go see _Burning Down the House_ with him when the movie came to theatres in a couple of weeks.

The back of the Consulate was quiet and more dimly lit than the front. It was also more private, and Ray knew that's what Fraser liked about it.

A year before, Ray would have barged into the tiny, closet-like room that his friend called an office. Today, he stopped and knocked politely, grimacing to himself as he realized that Fraser was slowly rubbing off on him.

"Come in."

"Hey, Frase," Ray said, opening the door.

"Oh, hello, Ray. You're early."

"Yeah. I just went through this with Turnbull. You almost done?"

"I just have to finish this last form, and I am free for the weekend. Inspector Thatcher is leaving early herself and told me once my duties are done, I'm free to go."

"What about Turnbull?"

"He's terribly behind," Fraser sounded disapproving.

"Do you think he'll stop working after Thatcher goes?"

"And leave his paperwork undone?" The shock on Fraser's face made Ray want to laugh. Instead, he just grinned and plopped into the guest chair. "C'mon, Fraser. He can finish on Monday. It's a beautiful day out there."

"I don't think..."

"And what she doesn't know won't hurt her."

"Ray."

Ray just shook his head and tapped his foot impatiently. Fraser's hand flew as he filled in the report. Still, it didn't seem fast enough. Ray hit his head lightly on the back of his chair, listening to the noise. He really wasn't good at waiting.

He started counting rubber ducks in his mind and had gotten as far as fifty-three when there was a polite knock on the still open door.

Fraser's pen stopped scratching and he looked up. Ray turned slightly and saw the Inspector standing in the doorway. He let his eyes drift over her because he knew she hadn't noticed he was looking at her. She was wearing a beige suit that modestly hugged her curves and brought out the creamy whiteness of her skin. Her serious face gave away nothing of what she was thinking, but her normally porcelain pale cheeks held a hint of color.

"Well, I'm off, Fraser," she said. "Are you almost done your 10989B Report?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Put it on my desk on your way out."

"Yes, sir."

She nodded at him slightly, then her eyes slid to Ray. "Detective."

"Inspector," he replied in the same tone.

She turned and left the room without another word. Seconds later, her stern voice drifted through the open door.

"How far have you gotten, Turnbull?"

"These are finished, ma'am. I still have these to do."

"All of those?" Her disapproval was sharp in her voice. Ray winced in sympathy for Turnbull.

"Yes, sir."

"That could take you all night."

"Yes, sir." Turnbull sounded forlorn.

"It's Friday afternoon. I'm leaving, and soon Constable Fraser will be as well."

"Yes, sir."

There was a pause. Ray sat up straighter, wondering if his plans for the day were about to be crushed.

"Leave it." There was a tinge of annoyance in her voice.

"Sir?" In his mind, Ray could see the look of absolute befuddlement on his friend's face.

"Just this once, do you understand? Go home and tackle the work on Monday. I expect it to be completed by the time you leave Monday evening. Is this understood?"

"Leave my paperwork, sir?"

"Turnbull."

"Yes, sir. I understand. Thank you, sir."

"Dismissed."

"Finished," Fraser announced at the same time.

Ray immediately bounced to his feet. "Then let's go."

Fraser stood up and started tidying his desk. He was still tidying when Turnbull appeared, his face flushed and excited.

"I have been relieved for the day," he announced unnecessarily.

"I am also finished," Fraser told him, grabbing his report.

"Greatness. Now, let's get going," Ray prodded, herding his friends through the door.

"I'm glad we're leaving early," Turnbull commented as they moved towards the Inspector's office.

"Yeah? Why's that? 

"After our game, I would like to go out and buy a present for the woman I wish to be my Valentine this year."

"Let me guess," Ray asked in amusement, "Frannie?"

The large Mountie looked stunned. "Yes. How did you know?"

"It's not like it's a secret. When is Valentine's Day, anyway?"

"Sunday, so I don't have much time. I need to find the perfect present. Any suggestions?"

"You can't go wrong with flowers," Ray said absently, looking around as they entered the Inspector's office.

It was neat. Not one thing was out of place. Even what little paper there was on her desk was stacked perfectly. Ray thought of his own desk; sometimes it was so cluttered he had to dig to find the surface. There was something suspicious about a person whose office was this neat. His eyes flicked to Fraser, who was carefully placing his form on his boss's desk. Maybe it was a Canadian thing.

The three men didn't speak until they left the office because that solemn room seemed to forbid any noise. Ray couldn't stay quiet long, however, and as soon as they were outside and he was bouncing down the Consulate steps much as he had bounced up, he asked, "So, why'd the Ice Queen leave early? Hot date?"

"No, Ray," Fraser told him, following at a more sedate pace. "She is going to a little girl's first birthday party."

Ray snorted. "I should have known. Who'd want to go out with the Ice Queen?"

"The Inspector is a lovely woman. If you'd just give her a chance..."

"Are you kidding? Her legs are probably frozen together. If someone wanted to be her Valentine, she'd probably kick 'em in the head."

Ray turned to see both Mounties looking at him with identical expressions of horror. He quietly backtracked in his mind to see what he'd said that would make their faces do _that_. Oh. Well, he wasn't going to apologize. Until he had proof otherwise, he was going to believe her legs really _were_ frozen together.

"C'mon. Pitter patter, let's get at 'er. It'll be dark soon."

Turnbull's horrified look turned puzzled. "Are we playing outside?"

"The brisk air will do you good, Turnbull," Fraser put in.

"In February?" Ray said at the same time. "Nah. I've got a place I go to."

Turnbull smiled a wide smile that spread across his broad face. "Excellent."

XXX

Three games of basketball later, Ray was tiredly following the man who was rapidly becoming his ex-friend. They were in the mall, going from store to store as Turnbull searched for the perfect gift for Frannie.

Turnbull had insisted that he couldn't find that present alone, so Ray had reluctantly agreed to help. The thing was, he hated shopping for women. It gave him a headache. The absolute joy Turnbull took in the process made it a hundred times worse.

Ray groaned as they stepped into another trinket shop. Why couldn't Turnbull just take his suggestion about the flowers so they could go home?

He sighed as he watched his friend carefully study a shelf full of angel figurines. With the way they were going, Ray would be lucky to get home in time for the late news. Bored, his eyes started wandering and so did his mind.

One of the figures on a nearby shelf caught his attention. It was a small, dark-haired fairy, dressed in white, with ice and snow clinging to her dress. Despite her remote face, the features were pretty. Because her only real color was in her dark hair and eyes, Ray's gaze was naturally drawn to them. He squinted at the figure, thinking that she reminded him of something...or someone. When he read the tag, he chuckled to himself. It was an ice fairy. The name alone tempted him to buy it and put it on the Ice Queen's desk. It was pretty enough that she might not take offense.

Thinking of the Ice Queen, Ray remembered his comment about her killing any would-be Valentines. In his head, he saw Turnbull approaching her with a card and ice fairy in his hands. Ray smiled as he also saw the Ice Queen laying her subordinate out flat on the floor.

Of course, his thoughts went even further, she couldn't deck her Valentine if she didn't know who he was. What if she got the request from a secret admirer? What would she do then? Would she still want to kick him in the head? Would she be embarrassed? Ray's mind supplied an image of an outraged Thatcher crumpling an envelope and throwing it disdainfully in a garbage can by her desk. That would be something to see.

"What do you think, Ray?" Turnbull cut into his amused thoughts, holding up two cherubs. "Do you think your ersatz sister would like one of these?"

"My er...what?" Ray blinked in confusion.

"Francesca. Which do you think she'd prefer?"

"I don't know. I'd still go with the flowers."

"Really?" He frowned.

"Yes. Now, can we go?"

"But...but flowers die, Ray."

"And so does love. Let's go."

Turnbull looked almost as shocked as he had when Ray had spoken about his boss's thighs. He sputtered before saying, "It's Valentine's Day! Don't you believe in love?"

Ray shrugged as an image of Stella flashed into his mind. He hadn't been thinking of her as much lately, but sometimes she would suddenly appear and punch him in the gut.

Turnbull shook his head sadly. "Love does exist, Ray."

"If you say so..."

Turnbull looked at the figurines in his hands once more, then threaded his way through the shelves still holding them. Ray was going to follow him when something made him stop. For some reason he couldn't fathom, he went up to the shelf and palmed the small, cold fairy. He just couldn't leave her in the store.

Without stopping to analyze this, he followed Turnbull's retreating back.

XXX

Meg Thatcher was tired. She wasn't even the baby's mother, she was just a friend helping out, and she felt as if she'd been up for days. All-nighters at the Consulate were not half as tiring as helping Nancy chase a room full toddlers and preschoolers. The children seemed to be everywhere and, with even twice the amount of adults that were actually in the house, they still would have needed eyes in the backs of their heads.

She sighed as she reached down and caught one screaming body as it tried to streak by into Nancy's 'no children' zone.

The child wiggled good naturedly, so Meg turned her around and pointed her in the direction of the kitchen.

"It's almost time for cake, Amber."

"Choc'lit?"

"I believe so."

The child changed course and restarted her banshee-like, joyful screaming as she headed for the promise of cake.

Meg couldn't stop the amused smile that came to her face as she followed the rambunctious child.

The others were already gathered in the kitchen, fifteen children and five adults. Nancy stood by the sideboard with her daughter Joy in her arms. The baby was rosy-cheeked with sleepy, droopy eyes and soft blond hair. Her mom bounced her absently, and Meg felt a faint pang of jealousy. She didn't let it show on her face as she met Nancy's eyes across the room.

"I found another one."

"Great. I think that's everyone." Nancy's eyes slid over the group as she did a quick head count.

"Is everyone ready for cake?"

There was a chorus of excited "yeses".

Meg went over to Nancy and asked, "Would you like me to hold Joy?"

"Would you?" She held out the baby, and Meg took her with practiced ease.

"Meg," the baby said happily, and Meg kissed her cheek.

"Hello, Sweetheart."

Just a year ago, Meg had known nothing about babies, though she longed to have one. Through her friendship with Nancy, she had slowly become wiser and more comfortable.

Once Nancy had passed Joy to Meg, she lit the big candle-a bear holding a giant number one- in the middle of the cake. Meg brought Joy over to her high chair and settled her in as the kids sang and shouted the words to "Happy Birthday". By the time Nancy reached the high chair with the cake, they were all watching it with shining eyes.

The blowing out of the candle was a big affair, with children yelling encouragement. Despite this, Joy seemed more interested in playing with the frosting than anything else. In the end, her cousin Rory was called from the crowd to help. He did so, proudly showing off to his friends before letting out a great gust of air that ruffled Joy's hair. As the candle sputtered and went out, the kids all clapped and cheered, including Joy, though Meg doubted the baby knew what was going on.

Nancy's sister, Rose, came up to her and offered, "I'll cut the cake for you. You look exhausted." 

"Thanks." Nancy smiled gratefully.

As Rose spirited the cake away, Meg ran her hand over the top of Joy's head. "I can't believe she's a year old already. It seems like just yesterday I was buying that Mr. Feed Me machine."

Nancy raised her eyebrows. "Mr. Feed Me?" 

"Or something like that." Meg shook her head. "On the advice of a friend, I returned it."

"So, when are you going to finally break down and have some little ones of your own? You're so good with Joy."

Meg felt a stab of pain, and she had to look away from her friend's inquiring gaze. "I don't know. I have zero prospects in the romance department. I work too hard to meet anyone."

"And?" Nancy put a hand on Meg's arm. "What's wrong?"

"My adoption application was denied." It had been a couple of months, and she knew she should be over it by now, but it still hurt. "I failed the home inspection."

"I'm so sorry, Meg." She drew her out of the kitchen away from the many sets of ears. "What happened?"

Meg shrugged, letting her familiar mask of cool detachment come to her face. "They said my career was too high risk for a single parent."

"Being a diplomat?" Nancy drew her brow down in puzzlement.

"No, being a member of the RCMP. I'm a police officer, Nancy."

She chewed her lip and gave Meg an apologetic look. "That's right...Sometimes I forget."

Meg couldn't quite keep the sadness out of her voice as she admitted, "Yeah. Me too."

XXX

On Saturday, February 13th, Ray Kowalski woke up with a plan. It had been a fragment of an amusing thought when he went to sleep, but by morning it had blossomed and bloomed.

As he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, he smiled. Why wonder what the Ice Queen's reaction to a secret admirer would be when he had the power to find out? It wouldn't be that hard to mix an anonymous card and note in with the Consulate mail. The only tricky part would be making sure he was there when she received it. Even if he didn't get to see her open it, it would be fun to see her puzzling over the strange envelope. Maybe he'd even get to tease her about it a little. Of course, he thought, frowning, he'd never let her know it was from him or that it wasn't from a real admirer. If he went through with this, he would be doing it for amusement, not to hurt her feelings. He knew she had them in there somewhere, and Ray wasn't the type to purposefully hurt a woman. If she never found out the sentiment wasn't real, no harm would be done.

The first thing he had to do was find a card. It couldn't be too sappy or the funny one he'd normally buy. To sell it, he had to make the whole thing seem real. That meant he had to find a card as elegant and classy as she was. There were a lot of negative things that he could say about the Inspector, but he had to admit that she was pretty and she oozed class. She was like that rich movie star you saw on TV entertainment news—elegant, remote, and willing to slap a restraining order on you if you tried to touch her.

He'd buy some new paper too. Maybe something that was a light pink and smelled nice.

As he dressed, he thought about what the note should say. If it were going to be signed from him, he probably would have said something silly like, "I wonder if your skin is as cold as the ice in your eyes," or "Your glare freezes my heart," or even, "If I'm really bad, will you spank me?"

By the time he was pulling up his pants, he was laughing so hard he almost tripped.

Of course, those words wouldn't do if the note were coming from someone who had fallen in love with her from across a crowded room. They had to be simple and as close to true as he could make them. That left him with elegant, classy, and pretty.

Most women liked being told they were pretty, he told himself, and the Inspector was more than a little pretty. Enough so that saying beautiful wouldn't really be a stretch. Not that he had noticed.

"I suppose I could always comment on the perfection of her ass," he mumbled to himself. Not that he had noticed that either.

The ice fairy stared at him accusingly from his dresser.


	2. Chapter 2

Meg liked Sundays. They were calm and quiet and nobody bothered her to file this or plan that or discipline them. It was her time and, when she didn't have plans, her favorite thing to do was absolutely nothing. Sundays were for books and silly TV movies and maybe chats on the phone with her sister or her father.

This Sunday, she was curled up on her couch in her pajamas, searching in vain for something to watch. The first sight that met her eyes when she turned the TV on was a pink screen with a heart in the middle that said, "TV's All-time Favorite Love Stories". Meg frowned and flipped to the next station, which was showing a sickly sweet romantic comedy.

"Oh, please," Meg groaned to herself, rolling her eyes. She found romantic comedies and self-proclaimed "chick flicks" tedious unless they were very well done or movies she had enjoyed when she was young and naive.

When she found three more variations of the same theme on the next three stations, she sighed heavily. Even the History Channel let her down; it was playing "History's Favorite Couples".

"What is going on today?" Usually, she could find a good documentary or a compelling drama on Lifetime. She flicked through a couple more stations, then gave up and turned off the TV.

With a frown, her eyes flicked to the page-a-day "Hunk" calendar that Francesca Vecchio had given her in their holiday exchange a couple of months before. Suddenly, it all made sense.

"Bleah," she said, throwing her remote to the coffee table in disgust. "The day deluded men and women decide to show their questionable affection in large and ridiculous ways."

It was a day made to fool people into believing the biggest lie of all. It was bigger than Santa Claus. Bigger than Elvis being alive and well out there somewhere. It was the myth that true love existed outside the boundaries of that fake Hollywood world, and every day otherwise rational people fell for it. She had almost fallen for it herself once or twice.

She got up and headed for her bedroom, determined to find something to read. And it would not be a romance novel.

XXX

The Consulate was still closed and the sun had not yet risen when Ray parked his GTO a block away and moved through the darkness to the front door.

As he went quietly up the steps, he hoped that he wouldn't wake Fraser or that Dief wouldn't bark. If Fraser found out about the joke, he would certainly put an end to it. That wouldn't do, especially after Ray had laboured so hard over both the card and the note. Neither was as easy as he thought they would be. It took him over an hour to pick out the card, and, even though he kind of knew what he wanted to say, it took almost as long to decide how to put it down.

The mailbox near the door squeaked a little as he raised the lid. Ray froze and listened for noise coming from inside the Consulate. When there was no sign of sleepy Mountie or hungry wolf, he slipped the pink envelope inside.

The lid squeaked again as he lowered it carefully, but not quite as loudly. Without turning back—praying the 'if I can't see you, you can't see me' philosophy would work—he crept down the stairs then took off at a sprint.

By the time he reached his car, he was laughing. He did it! He had actually written and delivered a love note to the Ice Queen. His success made him giddy.

Now all he had to do was make sure he was there when she received it.

XXX

It was about eleven o'clock the second time Ray made his way to the Canadian Consulate. This time, he parked directly out front and whistled as he went up the front steps. He glanced at the mailbox, which was slightly open, and saw other envelopes mixed in with his own pink one. That meant it wouldn't be long until Turnbull came out to get the mail. All Ray had to do was somehow figure out a way to be in the foyer when the Ice Queen came out to look through it.

"Mornin', Turnbull," he said cheerily as he came through the door.

"Good morning, Ray." The Mountie looked up and beamed benevolently. "Did you notice if the mail has arrived?"

For a moment, Ray thought he had been made, but then he remembered who he was talking to. "Yeah, I think so."

"Excellent. And how was your Valentine's Day?"

Ray shrugged. "I spent it helping Tony and Maria move. How'd your present work on Frannie?"

Turnbull's broad face broke into a smile. "I had a wonderful Valentine's Day. When I gave Francesca her present, she agreed to accompany me to dinner and a movie."

"Glad you had a good time."

"It was lovely. Francesca is a delightful companion."

"Good to hear. Fraser in?"

"Yes, he is, Ray. He is in his office making plans for the Consular Ball next month. Will you be attending?"

Ray was about to go past the desk and towards Fraser's office, but he stopped at this comment. "Me?"

"Yes. In the interest of our cultural relations, the Inspector has been asked to invite members of the Chicago Police Department that have been working closely with us. Invitees include Detectives Huey and Dewey, Francesca, Lt. Welsh, and yourself."

"Me?" he asked again.

"I'm sorry if I let the cat out of the bag."

Ray waved a hand. "It's okay."

"I hope you will consider attending. It will be quite an affair."

"Yeah. Maybe." He didn't add that he'd rather have a root canal or listen to Frannie interview a suspect.

Ray turned and headed to Fraser's office. The door was open, and Fraser was studying a piece of paper and mumbling to himself.

"You know that's the first sign you're crazy," Ray said with a smile.

"Oh, hello, Ray. I'm just trying to figure out the guest list for our Consular Ball."

"Are you almost done? I thought you were coming with me this morning."

"And I am. I just have to finish this. Have a seat."

Ray looked at the chair then out the doorway. If this took too long, he would miss Thatcher's reaction to his note and everything would be ruined.

"Is there something wrong?"

"No", was all he could say as he parked his butt in his usual chair.

It seemed like forever before Fraser stood and grabbed his tunic. It seemed to take even longer for him to do up the buttons and put on his Sam Browne. Ray tapped his foot impatiently and played with the buttons on his own jacket.

When Fraser was finally ready, Ray jumped to his feet and snatched Fraser's Stetson off of a nearby file cabinet.

"Here you go, buddy."

"Thank you kindly."

"Welcome."

Turnbull was just settling back into his chair when Ray, Diefenbaker, and Fraser entered the foyer. He set the mail neatly to one side on his desk and picked up his phone.

"The mail is here, sir."

Fraser was headed for the outside door, and the Ice Queen hadn't even come out of her office yet.

"Wait a minute, Frase," Ray blurted.

His friend turned puzzled eyes to him. "What is it, Ray?"

Ray searched his mind frantically for anything that would make sense. He was saved by Turnbull's, "Oh, sir, before you go, I really need you to look over this 141RB Report. The Inspector insisted that you read it and sign it to make sure I got the correct details."

"Now, Turnbull?"

"I apologize, sir, but she wanted it by noon."

Fraser nodded and went to Turnbull's desk while Ray just smiled to himself.

The Inspector appeared moments later, her expression unreadable. There were papers in her hands, and she calmly took in the scene in front of her.

"Are you leaving, Constable?" she asked, approaching Turnbull's desk.

"Yes, sir," Fraser replied, "but I'll be back in time for my shift."

"And Turnbull's 141RB Report?"

"I'm reading it over now."

She nodded her acceptance and held out the papers in her hand to Turnbull. "Can I trust you to fax these, Constable?"

"Yes, sir," he assured her, sitting up straighter.

"Good. These need to be sent tomorrow. Do not forget."

"Yes, sir," he repeated, picking up the mail and trading with her.

Fraser asked Turnbull a question about his report, and Turnbull's attention wandered from the Inspector to his colleague. Ray leaned his butt against the desk, pretending to be bored and pretending that all of his attention was not on the Ice Queen.

She bit her lip as she started flipping through the mail in her hands. It was such an unconscious gesture when she was normally so careful and controlled that Ray rather liked it. He watched her closely as she dismissed each envelope until she got to the pink one that simply said, in Ray's own handwriting, "Inspector Meg Thatcher, Canadian Consulate."

He saw a flicker of interest go over her pretty face as she picked it out of the pile and broke the seal. He couldn't believe how lucky he was that she was going to open it right there in front of him. As he watched her, he had to fight both the urge to stare and the urge to grin. He wondered eagerly what her reaction would be.

Slim fingers took out the card Ray had laboured over. Her eyes skimmed over the words before she opened it. He saw her read what was inside.

A small blush went over her face, and her eyes widened slightly. Delight danced over her features, warm and happy, and a soft and sweet smile touched her mouth. They were both gone so quickly that neither Turnbull nor Fraser had seen them. But Ray had, and suddenly his joke didn't seem so funny anymore.

The Inspector quickly stuck the card and note into the pocket of her form fitting suit jacket. Then, she looked up at each of the three men. Fraser and Turnbull were still working, and Ray made sure his attention was on the floor.

"Are you almost done with the report, Constables?" she asked.

Both of them looked her way, and Fraser said, "Almost, sir."

Her eyes slid to Ray. "Detective."

It took all he had to give her a disinterested, "Inspector."

As the Ice Queen turned and went back to her office, Ray felt guilt settle in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know what he had expected her reaction to be—anger, embarrassment, a dramatic eyeroll—but he hadn't expected her to take innocent pleasure from it. She had looked so happy; he'd never seen her smile like that before. It softened her face and her eyes, smoothing away the serious lines and making her look like a person he'd really like to know.

He was a jerk.

XXX

Meg Thatcher smiled to herself as she worked on her paperwork later that day. Occasionally, her eyes flicked to the small pink envelope carefully placed on the side of her desk. Silly as it was, the card and note inside had kept her smiling all day.

It wasn't often that she received a Valentine. In fact, besides the yearly one from her father, she could count the ones she had received as an adult on one hand. Despite her views on the whole consumer market fabricated holiday, she was honest enough about her own hypocrisy to admit that getting the card had been a pleasant surprise. Someone had actually taken the time to buy her a card, one both tasteful and sugar-free, and to put a sweet message inside it.

For not the first time, she wondered who could have sent it. Both the card and the note were signed, _"From your secret admirer,"_ which wasn't very informative. What kind of man would do something so nice and then not want to take credit for it?

Meg wasn't getting any creepy vibes from it, so she had ruled out someone with malicious intent, like a stalker. The whole thing had her puzzled and more than a little curious. Even though her eyes were staring at her paperwork, her mind went through possible matches for the careful, slightly uneven handwriting.

It could have been anyone. Since the envelope had no address and no stamp, the giver had to be someone in Chicago. There were several men she came into contact with while performing her diplomatic duties. She came in regular contact with several more while performing her duties as an RCMP administrator and with her own interaction, which wasn't as much as Fraser's but was still quite extensive, with the 27th Division of the Chicago Police Department.

She stilled a moment as a thought drifted through her mind. What if it were from Fraser or Turnbull? The thought made a rush of flame spread over her face. Could one of her Constables have sent her a note that said, _"I don't know how it's possible, but you get prettier each time I see you"_?

Meg forced herself to breathe. Turnbull was smitten with Francesca Vecchio, wasn't he? She was sure he was. But what about Fraser? 

The two of them had been through a lot together. At first their relationship had been mostly mutual attraction and denial but lately, in the past year or so—since the confusion about her wanting to adopt a child, she thought sadly—their relationship had moved more towards friendship. A deep and lasting friendship, she liked to believe, but who knew what would happen when this posting ended?

Meg reached out and picked up the pink envelope. She studied the handwriting carefully. It didn't look like Fraser's neat, precise script, but stranger things had happened. She wondered if her male acquaintances would think her crazy if she asked them all to provide a sample of their handwriting.

Her lip quirked at the thought, and she was still staring at the envelope when her phone beeped.

"Yes, Turnbull?"

"A very lovely lady is here to see you, ma'am."

Meg dropped the envelope. "What?"

Turnbull cleared his throat. "Excuse me. Miss Francesca Vecchio is here to see you."

"Francesca Vecchio?"

"Yes, sir. She has papers for you to sign from Lieutenant Welsh."

Meg frowned and shuffled her papers so that her pink envelope was hidden. "All right, send her in."

She was calm and composed and working on her neglected paperwork when Francesca came in.

"Hi," she said.

"Hello, Francesca."

Meg studied the Civilian Aide thoughtfully. They had worked a couple of cases together and, despite their differences, Meg really liked her. Lately, Francesca had taken to dressing more conservatively and toning down her bright and wild image, but the spark of fun and willingness to believe was still in her eyes.

"The Lieutenant ordered me down here. I hope you're not too busy."

"No," Meg assured her. "It's fine." It wasn't as if she were getting any work done anyway.

"There are a couple of claim forms, a report on what happened with that mob guy last Christmas, and some other stuff. He wants me to wait while you read and sign them."

"All right." Meg waved her to one of the extra chairs. "Have a seat."

Francesca plopped the papers on the desk and sat. She looked around in appreciation. "This is a nice office."

"Thank you."

"All I get is that dinky desk...well, you've seen it."

"Yes." She also remembered how Francesca had personalized it. Animal prints and flowers. Not Meg's style but very Francesca Vecchio.

"I'd like to have my own office. That way, I could hide sometimes when _he's_ yelling for me."

Meg raised her eyebrows in amusement. "Lieutenant Welsh?"

"He growls just like a bear."

"I can imagine." The Lieutenant was large and rough and gruff, but Meg liked him. And she knew Francesca did as well.

The two women were silent as Meg began to go over the forms. They were dry and boring, but then so much of her job was.

She heard Francesca get up and glanced in her direction. Francesca was walking around the office, peering at Meg's paintings and pictures.

"Is everything all right?"

"Just looking. Is this your family?"

She was pointing to a picture taken about five years before of Meg in red serge with her father smiling on her right and Lisa with a baby in her arms on the left.

"Yes."

"Your dad looks nice." This she said rather quietly, making Meg curious in spite of herself.

"He is." Meg smiled slightly. "A little old fashioned, but kind."

Francesca frowned, her face taking on a faraway quality. After a moment, she asked, "What does it feel like?"

"What?"

"Respect."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

Francesca sighed and flopped back into her chair. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately. At first, I thought it was that I wanted to be a cop. I'm around cops all the time, so it's only natural, right? But I don't think that's it anymore. I think what I want is the respect. Nobody has ever respected me in my whole life. Sometimes I think my brother was right. No matter what I do, no one will ever respect me."

Meg put down her pen and frowned darkly. "Vecchio said that?"

"Yeah. How do you do it? How do you get them to respect you?"

Meg thought about her answer before replying, "I don't ask for their respect. I expect it. You can't let men think that they're better than you are just because they have a couple of bits that you don't. You show them that you will take nothing less than the respect you deserve. Most men will respond to that, some more than others. Sometimes, you're lucky, and you'll come across men like Fraser and Turnbull who respect your rank and position no matter what gender you are-and if you tell them I said that, I'll deny it. The absolute truth is that some men will never respect you, no matter who you are or what you do. I've come across a couple of those in my work—and in my life. When it's a senior officer, it makes it...difficult... to get through the days. When it's someone under your command, you have to get rid of him or risk the demolition of your whole house of cards."

"This senior officer...?"

Meg grimaced. "I'd rather not talk about it."

Francesca nodded in understanding. "Oh. One of _those_."

"Yes."

"I can't believe even someone like you would have that kind of problem."

Meg didn't know whether to be insulted by this or not, especially after she had opened herself up to the younger woman. "What do you mean someone like me?"

"You know," Francesca said, "Confident."

Meg blinked. "Oh."

"Some men stink."

"I agree."

"But not Ren." Francesca's face broke out into her normal easy smile.

"You're on a first name basis with Constable Turnbull, are you?"

"Yeah. Ever since we went to that Tracy Jenkins concert. He even took me out for Valentine's Day."

Meg didn't know exactly how to answer this, so she settled for the diplomatic, "Constable Turnbull is a special man."

"Yeah, he is."

"You know, you don't have to remain in my office, Francesca. It's perfectly all right for you to join Turnbull for a few minutes."

"He won't get in trouble?"

Meg shook her head slightly. "It's fine."

Francesca sprang from her seat. "Just let me know when you're done."

"I'll bring the papers out to you," she assured her.

"Thanks." Francesca was almost to the door when she turned around. "Um...Inspector...?"

Meg looked up from the papers once more. "Yes?"

"I was just thinking...This might sound strange, coming from me, but I was wondering if you'd like to come to dinner at my house tomorrow night. We're having a family dinner, friends too. Ray and Benton and Ren will all be there."

"Me?"

"Well, yeah. If you're free. We've known each other for ages, so why not?"

Meg swallowed. "It's very nice of you to offer, Francesca, but I'm not sure it would be appropriate to socialize with my Constables outside of work."

The other woman snorted. "What Ottawa doesn't know won't hurt 'em. Besides, I'd like you to come. All Maria talks about is her kids and, while that's okay, sometimes when she goes on and on, I want to scream. And she's going to be the only other woman there, besides Ma, if you don't come."

"Don't you think your mother would mind a stranger at the table?"

"Ma? Nah. She loves me bringin' friends home. Like I was twelve or something."

"Well, if you're certain."

"Great! Supper's at six. Follow the trail of Mounties."

As she left the office, Meg found herself feeling both bemused and confused. Surprise was in there too. She could not believe that Francesca Vecchio had reached out to her. This day was turning out to be a very interesting one.


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you sure we were supposed to be here at six, Fraser?" Ray asked as he got out of his car and popped on his sunglasses.

"Quite sure, Ray," his friend replied, letting Diefenbaker out of the backseat.

"I thought it was seven."

"If so, it doesn't hurt to be early."

There were several cars in the driveway and some going down the street. Ray frowned as he studied them. "I don't see Turnbull's car here. Isn't he always on time or something?"

Fraser frowned. "Usually." He sounded a little distracted.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"You always say that, Fraser, and it's never nothin'."

"Well, it's just that car there looks an awful lot like...Oh, dear."

"Okay, now I'm sure it's not nothin'."

His friend rubbed a thumb nervously over his eyebrow. "Does this car look familiar to you?"

Ray's eyes traveled over the black Impala they were walking past. "Kinda. Maybe." Fraser gave him a look slightly tinged with exasperation, so he continued, "I said, 'Maybe'."

"This is Inspector Thatcher's car."

"What?" It came out slightly louder than Ray had intended. He studied the car carefully and realized that Fraser was right. It was the same car he saw outside the Consulate every day. "What's she doin' here?"

"I assume she was invited, Ray."

Ray made a face. He didn't know if he could stand a whole dinner with the Ice Queen, even if it meant Ma Vecchio's cooking. How were his friends supposed to relax with their boss in the room? Besides, he admitted to himself, he was still trying to forget her reaction to his note the day before. For just an instant, she had seemed like a whole different person.

"Who would go and do that?"

"It will be fine."

"You won't even be able to take off your uniform."

Fraser looked down at himself, his expression puzzled. He was wearing a blue sweater, his leather jacket, and his blue jeans.

"I mean rhetorically," Ray told him.

"Do you mean figuratively?"

"Yeah, whatever."

They reached the front door and, even though it was closed, voices and laughter could be heard. Ray opened it without hesitation just to annoy Fraser, who always knocked.

"Anybody home?" he asked unnecessarily.

"Uncle Ray!" Maria's youngest son, who didn't even remember there had been another Uncle Ray, flew at him with a flying tackle.

"Hiya, Mikey!" he said, giving the small boy a big hug before putting him down.

The boy then regarded Fraser seriously. "Hello, Uncle Benny."

Fraser gave the boy a gentle smile. "Good afternoon, Michael. Are you well?"

"Yes, sir. And you?"

"Very well, thank you."

Ray groaned as the boy darted off with Dief at his heels. "Don't tell me you're teaching Mikey to talk Canadian. You are a bad influence on this family."

"It doesn't hurt to have manners."

"Manners schmanners."

They followed the chatter of voices to a dining room full of people. Everyone was moving around each other, talking and, occasionally, yelling. Ray counted nine people—and that was without the children. Frannie, Turnbull, Maria, and one of the Vecchio cousins seemed to be bringing out food, while another of the cousins and his boyfriend were placing the dishes evenly on the table. Ma was directing everything while Tony kept sneaking tastes. The Ice Queen was the only one not talking and laughing, but she had pitched in to help. She was weaving through the people, trying to set the table. Her face was a little pale, and she had a slightly stunned expression. Ray smiled as he remembered his first meal with the Vecchios.

"Benton, Ray, I thought you were going to be late," Ma Vecchio said when she caught sight of them.

Ray bent and kissed her cheek. "Sorry, Ma. My fault."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Fraser asked.

"That's the reason Ray's always late, you know," Frannie said conversationally as she passed a bowl to her cousin Thom. "So he doesn't have to help."

Ray briefly stuck out his tongue at the girl pretending to be his sister. He had never had a sister before, and he was finding having two an interesting experience.

Frannie just chuckled and went back to the kitchen.

"You just sit and get comfortable," Ma was telling Fraser, ignoring Ray and Frannie's exchange.

Ray glanced once more at Thatcher before following Frannie into the kitchen.

"What do you want, Ray?"

They were alone in the kitchen so Ray asked lowly, "What's the Ice Queen doing here?"

Frannie glanced at the door. "I invited her."

"You did?"

"Yeah. Do you have a problem with that?"

"She's the Ice Queen."

"She's got some strange ideas, but she's kinda nice...and I think she needed it."

"What do you mean?"

Frannie shrugged but didn't say anything as Turnbull came through the door. "How are we doing, Francesca?"

"Just two more dishes."

"May I take one?"

She smiled at him. "Thank you, Ren. Geez, Ray, haven't you learned anything from him and Frase yet?"

"I can take the other one."

"Good." She shoved it at him, potholders and all, and flounced back into the dining room.

With a grimace, Ray followed her and Turnbull. The heat from the dish warmed his hands even through the potholders.

Fraser, despite Ma's suggestion, was setting up the kids' table for Maria's children. Everyone else was arguing as they scrambled for places to sit.

Thatcher looked a little lost until Frannie said, "Sit here, Inspector, between me and Ren."

"Thank you, Francesca," she murmured gratefully.

Ray took the chair across from them so he could talk to his friend and maybe even tease the Ice Queen. When Fraser was done, he came and sat at Ray's right. Ray didn't know the cousins very well, so he was happy when his other pretend sister, Maria, sat at his left.

There was more talking and laughing and pushing and yelling as everyone got seated, but it stopped immediately when Ma cleared her throat. She paused and then said a simple Grace. A chorus of "Amens" after the prayer was followed by reaching hands and more noise as everyone talked at once.

Ray joined the hands grasping for food, even though the three Mounties didn't. Frannie, aware they wouldn't after years of friendship with Fraser, passed Thatcher and Turnbull a dish every time she caught one. They were both looking rather timid and overwhelmed. Fraser, on the other hand, looked completely comfortable in the chaos and asked the Vecchios for certain dishes with very courteous "if-you-pleases" and "thank you kindlys".

Ray continued to watch Inspector Thatcher with amusement. She was being very careful and very polite.

"Would you like some scalloped potatoes, Inspector?" he asked sweetly.

Thatcher glanced at him, so he grinned and held out the dish. She hesitated a moment before reaching out and taking it from him, her hands brushing his.

"Thank you, Detective."

Ray winked at her, and she gave him a small smile. Her slim body seemed to relax slightly, and the smile was still on her face as she turned her head to talk to Frannie. Ray couldn't hear what the Inspector said, but Frannie's eyes widened and she chuckled.

Could it be that the Ice Queen had a sense of humour? He frowned. He hoped the comment that had made Frannie laugh wasn't about him.

The frown melted off of his face as he began to wonder what the Ice Queen's laugh sounded like. He'd never heard her laugh before. Her smiles were rare enough. He wondered if it would be a high, girly giggle or one of those throaty, sexy laughs that could make a man's stomach clench.

She wasn't laughing now, as she spooned potatoes onto her plate, but there was a twinkle in her eyes.

"Would you like some scalloped potatoes, Turnbull?" she asked, echoing Ray's earlier question.

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"So, Meg," Ma Vecchio said, her voice expertly pitched to be heard over her boisterous family, "Frannie tells me you work at the Consulate with Benton and Renfield."

Some of the Ice Queen's discomfort came back to her face for just a brief instant before her features went Inspector smooth. She cleared her throat before answering, "Yes, ma'am."

Ray was surprised that she didn't correct Ma and tell her she was their boss. She was usually quick to make sure the Constables knew their place.

"And what do you do there, dear?"

"I'm the main administrator. I oversee the day to day running of the Consulate. Mostly, it's paperwork. To tell you the truth, it's rather boring, Mrs. Vecchio."

Ma Vecchio beamed a smile, "Please call me Ma. All of my children's friends do."

"I don't know if I'd be..." She glanced at Frannie, who nodded. "All right. Thank you."

"Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No," Thatcher admitted softly.

"You are a very pretty girl to be single. Except you're too thin. Do you ever take time to eat at that Consulate of yours?"

The Ice Queen opened her mouth to answer, but Frannie interrupted her. "Leave her alone, Ma."

Her mother laughed. "I apologize. Apparently, my daughter is afraid I'll scare you off."

"I'm having a very pleasant time, ma'am...Ma," Thatcher told her politely. Then she added a sincere, "Really."

"I'm glad. Frannie should invite you more often." Her gaze then fell on Turnbull, and Thatcher turned to her meal.

Ray waited a couple of minutes before saying, "You know, Inspector, Salvatore down there is single. If you're looking."

The Inspector had just taken a bite, and at Ray's words she started to cough violently. Her face turned red and her eyes watered. Turnbull slapped her a few times helpfully on the back.

Salvatore, the bachelor cousin, looked up at his name.

Thatcher's eyes were still watering when she glared at Ray and said, "Thank you, Detective. I'll keep that in mind."

Her voice was slightly shaky from coughing, but there was steel in her gaze.

"I'm willing if you are...Meg?" Salvatore said smoothly from the end of the table.

Her smile this time was obviously fake, at least to Ray. "Thank you for the offer. I'll let you know."

Ray wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh so bad.

And then he didn't as someone kicked him sharply under the table. Since Frannie and the Ice Queen were both glaring at him, he wasn't sure which one had done it. He was tempted to kick back and get both of them, but he didn't think he would like whatever the Ice Queen did in retaliation.

Instead of kicking her, it would serve her right if he gave her another note. Maybe it would drive her crazy trying to figure out who sent it. And maybe her reaction the day before had been a fluke. Maybe this time, it would annoy her instead of making her smile. He'd like that.

"Real mature, Ray," Frannie said scathingly.

"What?" he asked, widening his eyes innocently. "I was just trying to get Meg," her name felt funny coming from his lips, and kind of wicked too because it was usually forbidden, "a date."

"I am quite capable of finding my own dates," the Ice Queen replied coldly, dropping her gaze back to her plate.

"Ignore him," Frannie waved a hand in Ray's general direction.

"I usually do."


End file.
